


becomings

by jemejem



Series: Lesser Evils [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blood and Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inspired by The Witcher, Lion Cub!Kevin, M/M, Mage!Neil, Multi, Prologue, Royalty, Witcher!Andrew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22240465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemejem/pseuds/jemejem
Summary: A Witcher, a Mage, a Fox Cub, a Warmonger: four individuals in a horrifying world, and how they came to be.(In other words: how Andrew became a monster, how neil became a sorcerer, how Kevin became a legacy and how Riko's bloodthirst will lead to chasing all three)No knowledge of The Witcher (tv show, game or book) required.
Relationships: Abby Winfield/David Wymack, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: Lesser Evils [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600882
Comments: 8
Kudos: 121





	becomings

_The Witcher_

* * *

“Ma,” Andrew mumbled, looking blearily up at the woman, sitting at the front of the cart with the horse’s reigns in tightly curled fists. “Ma, where are we going?”

“Don’t call me that,” Cass snapped. She hadn’t looked at the small, blonde boy: not since she had found him naked, bruised and bleeding, her Drake collapsed onto the floor with a butterknife in his eyes. 

Her husband had cradled their beautiful son to his chest and pointed a shaking finger at Andrew, calling him a monster. No mind was paid to the abuse on Andrew’s skin. No one said a thing about Drake’s unbuttoned trousers, the blood under his nails. Richard then looked at Cass, tears spilling down his cheeks: she knew what she had to do. She had brought Andrew into the house. She was responsible for removing him once more. 

Andrew sat up from the hay on which he’d fallen asleep, blinking at their surroundings. It was barely dawn, the sun peering through the pine trunks with intrepid curiosity. 

The cart drew to a close. 

“Andrew,” Cass said, regret and disgust palpable on her tongue. “There is a stream just south. Get some water.”

Andrew hopped down from the cart with his pail and ran as fast as he could. He knew Cass was upset about Drake: every time he tried to say that he was sorry, she would tell him that he didn’t mean it, and that she should never have let a demon into her home. She was right, anyway. Andrew wasn’t sorry. He couldn’t be sorry. All he’d felt when he’d shoved the hidden knife into Drake’s eye was pure, unadulterated relief. 

The creek dribbled down the gently sloping hill, carving between twisted tree roots and stones. He gathered as much as he could hold and hefted it back to where Cass and the cart would be, dragging it as best as he could. 

When he arrived at the road, both Cass and the cart had vanished. Andrew’s heart leapt into his throat. “Ma?” 

The response was silent. Even the birds had paused. 

“Ma!” Andrew called out again, fear curling around his throat like a starved serpent. The pail of water spilled out over the road, turning the hurried grooves of cartwheels and horse hooves into mud. 

Behind him, a twig snapped. 

The sun was blotted out by a tall, lithe figure when Andrew looked over his shoulder. He wore a cloak and a sinister grin. Andrew wished he still had the butter knife. 

“Hello, Andrew,” the man said, crouching down to look him in the eye. His teeth were white, his eyes almost the same colour, his hair a murky grey. Andrew felt his body stiffen despite his desperate desire to run away. The man’s fingertips were pressed to Andrew’s wrist.

_Magic,_ he remembered Cass say once. Things that shouldn’t be real, things that shouldn’t be controlled, it was all because of magic. This man was a magic man. 

And Andrew didn’t like it one bit. 

“I’m Proust,” he said, still smiling his awful smile. “Come with me.” 

* * *

_The Mage_

* * *

“Four marks,” Neil hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. His fingers curled against the steel rim of the basin as he attempted to withhold a scream, a cry. Just— _something._ Something that would have him feel less—

Angry. Alone. Afraid. 

_Real._

He shoved his hand through the pitifully filthy mirror in front of him. The shards collapsed everywhere, spraying out in a brilliant display of chaos. The smithereens reached the opposite ends of the room. 

Four marks. That had been all Neil was worth to Mary. For years, Neil had been keeping them safe, blinking them in and out of existence to avoid his father’s wrath. He was her _son._ They had promised to stay together. 

Then—out of nowhere, a woman appeared in a gilded green rope, and asked for Neil. 

“How much?” Mary had insisted, up to her knees in muck. They were hiding together in a miserably small hamlet, that had never seen violence nor carnage. It should have been good enough for both of them. 

“Ten marks,” the woman said. 

Neil couldn’t understand what his mother was implying. 

“Take him for two, for all I care,” she’d scoffed, exhausted.

“Six.” 

“Three.”

“Four.” 

Mary had arched a thin brow before nodding. She’d glanced over her shoulder, unable to meet Neil’s eyes. 

“Go,” Mary had said. 

“Ma,” Neil rasped, horrified. “Ma, _no.”_

Mary had simply turned away, failing to look back as the woman guided him into the cart. Neil kept looking, long after they were out of sight, unable to control the sick, twisted black _thing_ that was curling in his stomach. 

_Four marks,_ his present self reiterated, bowing his head. 

The door to his room burst open: the same woman returned, with chocolate skin and a small smile. The dress she wore was high-necked, the collar stood tall. Green looked regal on her skin. 

“Neil,” she insisted. “That seems rather dramatic.” 

Neil huffed, crossing his arms into his chest. 

She stepped into the room. “I am Danielle. Dan. You have arrived at Palmetto and proven yourself as a conduit for chaos. Do you know what that means?”

“I already know I possess some form of magic,” Neil returned, pulling his damaged hand to his chest. She waved her fingers and he watched as the scratches sealed over, the pink lines turning white before disappearing. It stung and itched but within moments it was gone. 

“That you do,” the woman appraised. “Come. Our first lesson is commencing.” 

Neil followed her because he didn’t want to be left alone with his volatile thoughts, and to escape this place he needed to understand its layout.It was nothing if not a maze, and through the slit windows he saw expansive cliffs and rolling waves. 

“Where are we?” Neil demanded, catching up to Dan’s purposeful stride. 

“Tower,” she answered, fingers laced behind her as she walked. “An old magic establishment to rival the likes of Aretuza and the Brotherhood. We mages have segregated ourselves from society for eons, but must we segregate ourselves from each other? No.” Unexpectedly, outside a set of extraordinarily carved oak doors, Dan whirled around to face him, green dress fanning out around her. Her smile was wan, taut. “Neil.” 

He looked up at her. 

“Are you ready?” 

He had no idea what was behind those doors. All he knew was that his father couldn’t find him here, and that his mother was going to die without him. Those were facets of truth that he had no control over, and that was all he wanted. Control. Over _something._

So he nodded, teeth grit and hands curled into fists. 

Her smile curled up with surety. 

* * *

_  
The Fox Cub of Foxhole Court  
  
_

* * *

  
“Kayleigh,” her mother admonished. “Sit _still.”_

But Kayleigh couldn’t. It was a betrothal ball, and she was hiding a secret that could annul the whole enterprise of her marriage. No one wanted a bride who was already with child.

“Abigail,” her father insisted. “Please,” 

“Do not, David,” the Queen said. “She’s going to create a scene. It’s not like I enjoyed my betrothal ball, either, but it is her duty as a princess to be wed, whether she likes it or not.” 

“I do not wish to be wed to any of these snivelling idiots,” Kayleigh hissed, sure to avoid looking towards the table on which the Moriyamas sat. Tetsuji would not be there. He was forbidden to accompany his older brother anywhere, as the spare spawn of his dynasty. Excommunicated and scorned. She wished he were here. “Why can’t I marry someone I love?”

“There’s plenty of time for that when you’re already married,” Abby insisted. 

David leaned over to smile at his daughter. “It’s not like we waited till after the king died. That’s how we know you’re our daughter.” Abby glared at him, cheeks pink. “You will outlive your counterpart and be happy once he is gone, Kay.” 

“And should he live long and righteously?” She snapped. “Should he outlive me? I will have wasted years for nothing.” 

“That’s enough,” Abby said, putting her hand over Kayleigh’s wrist. “This is for country. For duty. It is bigger than you and your desires for love and holy matrimony. We are a monarchy, and we must form strong alliances through proper bonds.” 

“Yes, Mother,” Kayleigh muttered, trying not to laugh as her father mocked the Queen behind her shoulder. He was a stiff, stoic man, but he was always the best at cheering her up, her closest confidant and friend. A wave of guilt washed over her: she hadn’t told him she was pregnant and she definitely should. He would’ve been able to help her. 

“Good god,” David exclaimed. “Who the hell is playing such maudlin music? Nicholas!” The bard looked up from his lute, curls bouncing. “Play a jig, dammit!” The young man rolled his eyes before cajoling the men into something more upbeat. Dancers took up the stage before them, spinning around in joyful synchrony. Fool and festivities, just for Kayleigh. She was going to be ill. 

Instead, a short man caught her eye. His hair was dreadfully pale, his eyes dark. He remained in the corner with his arms crossed, glaring stoically at everyone who came too near. 

“Who is that?” She asked her mother. 

Abby followed her gaze. Her lips twisted into a grimace. “That, dear, is Andrew Minyard.” 

“Minyard!” David called out, waving the little man over. 

  
“Your Highness,” the man said, bowing his head at Kayleigh once his saunter had drawn to a pause before the table. “Queen Abigail. Lord Wymack.” 

“Relax the needless titles, Andrew,” David insisted. “You have aided us enough to earn familiarity. Kayleigh,” her father said. “This the Monster of Pa’Metto.”

“A Witcher,” Kayleigh breathed. He wasn’t very impressive, contradicting the tales she had heard. 

Andrew just looked at her with a gaze, devoid of anything but apathy. 

“Won’t you sit with us, Andrew?” Abigail inquired. 

“I appreciate the invitation, your Majesty,” the man said, voice low and rough. “But I must decline. I am tasked with keeping my cousin out of locked bedchambers. A trivial but trying pursuit.”

David snorted. Kayleigh smiled down at her lap. Andrew nodded his head and departed, the odd man leaving an everlasting impression. 

“Your majesty!” A man crowed, as the dancing and music drew to an end. Kayleigh’s stomach twisted. “May I introduce, his excellence, Herrara of Catamount!” 

Kayleigh watched, unable to meet the eyes of her suitors as they offered bounties and land and promises of military force. That was all she was worth to them. 

“Lakes of Virginia!” 

It was all a useless parade, anyway: she was sure to be married to Hernandez of Millport anyway, to give her mother’s Foxhole Court access to the oceans and beyond. Hernandez seemed nice and jovial, if a little houndish, and winked at Kayleigh when he was introduced. 

“Kengo of Moriyama!” 

Kayleigh’s chest ached: she peeled her eyes open to witness her Tetsuji’s brother waltz over, flanked by his brutish guards. They looked so similar, but where Kengo was greasy, Tetsuji shone. Kengo was impressive, but Tetsuji was smart. They stood the same way, with the same eyes and hair, but the brothers couldn’t be any more different. 

“Your Majesty,” Kengo said graciously. “Your daughter’s hand is an honour I demand you see fit for me. Together we could unite the north and the south: Everyone knows the Foxhole Court is an unpolished gem, waiting to shine brilliantly.” 

“How…eloquently said,” Abby said, chin high. Kayleigh grit her teeth. Neither of her parents were pleased that the Moriyama Prince had come to their court, but they had been forced to keep their doors open. “It is a shame you are the fishbones of the north, Moriyama prince. Is that truly all you give your people?” Her mother’s voice rose. “Fishbones and potato peels? Why should my daughter marry into a legacy of cruelty and sallow skin?” 

Kengo’s face twisted with fury, but he was shooed away. Kayleigh let out a sigh of relief, clutching the fabric at her mother’s arm. 

“And now,” the announced continued, over the jovious laughter at Kengo’s expense. The man was simply shaking with fury and humiliation. Rightly so, Kayleigh thought. If only it was Tetsuji who was the crown prince of his nation: their country would be destined for a future far more prosperous. 

A loud shout echoed off the stone walls of the hall, just as three guards burst in after a young man, a knight’s helmet concealing his identity. He rushed for the middle of the room, collapsing on his knees. 

Abby and David were on their feet. Slowly, Kayleigh rose too, dread curling in her stomach. 

_Please, no,_ she thought, as knights surrounded the man. 

“Your Majesty,” he begged. “Please. I come with no intentions of harm. I am here at destiny’s bequest.”

Kayleigh had picked up her skirts and rounded the table between one blink and another. Her heart was skipping every other beat: there was no way that it could be true. 

“Who do you think you are?” Abby insisted, still placid and gentle, but with a cold steel in her voice. “Coming here, face covered, intentions disfigured. How _dare_ you disturb such an important evening!” 

“If there was another way I would have approached it, your Majesty. I insist,” the man said, hand over his heart. “I swear on my honour. I intend no harm. I simply wish to ask for Princess Kayleigh’s hand in marriage.” 

Abby barked out a laugh of disbelief. “You, a no one?” 

David drew out his sword. “Show your face.” 

“I cannot—“ 

Her father wrenched the helmet off the man’s head. 

Kayleigh gasped, falling to her knees before him against her mother’s cry. Tetsuji grasped her hands, bringing them to his lips. “Tetsuji, you should never have come here—“ 

“The exiled Moriyama prince?” Her father said with disbelief. “We have scorned your miserable older brother: how is it that you believe you have a better chance?” 

“The Law of Surprise,” Tetsuji said, looking up at the queen. “Many years ago, I saved the Queen’s life. We were aboard a ship, as young heiresses rather than kings and queens: as it rocked mid-storm, your Majesty slipped overboard. I hauled her back over the side, and she insisted that I was to be repaid for her life. Queen Abigail, you promised me the Law of Surprise, a debt that is paid with whatever is next known to the payer.” Tetsuji swallowed. “That was Kayleigh.” 

“No,” Abby snapped. “I—“ 

“I remember,” David murmured. 

The queen’s hands shook. “I cannot give away my _child.”_

“It is destiny,” Kayleigh pleaded. “Mother, I love him. _Please._ ”

“No!” Abigail cried, hands curled into fists. “No, it cannot be. Destiny could not be so _cruel._ I cannot allow it!” 

“Abigail,” David whispered. “The choice was never yours to make.” 

She hid her face behind shaking hands. All was very still. Kayleigh waited, heart thrumming, hands clammy where Tetsuji held them in his steadfast grip. 

“It is destiny,” Abby whispered. “If fate has decreed it, we mustn’t act against Her.” Slowly, she held out her hands. Kayleigh took one whilst Tetsuji took the other, standing together. Abby’s eyes were teary, her lip quivering. “Tetsuji of Moriyama: I hereby grant you the permission to love and cherish the Princess Kayleigh of the Foxhole Court, my daughter, and take her hand in divine matrimony, to sealeth a bond stronger than steel and blood—”

“No!” came a devastated cry from the shadows of a silent room. Kengo Moriyama revealed himself, red and spitting mad with jealousy and disbelief. He pointed a finger at Tetsuji and snarled _“Traitor.”_

All Kayleigh saw was the sharp edge of a sparkling dagger. She opened her mouth to scream, hand reaching for her love before he was to be stabbed in the back by his own brother. Her skin sparked with power as she grasped onto him and closed her eyes, a silent prayer on her lips. 

Her teeth sunk into enemy flesh: when she opened her eyes, she saw that Kengo was bleeding from his forearm, the dagger dropped to the floor. She opened her mouth again to scream but nothing but a feral snarl came out, blood on her tongue and nose. 

“What have you done with her?” Her father snarled. Kayleigh was no longer human, but the lithe shape of a silver-furred fox, snout red with Kengo’s blood. She felt herself be snatched into the air by her tail and screamed once more, a high-pitched whine as Kengo dug his fingers in too hard. 

Kengo drew out a sword to slit the fox’s throat as her mother and father and husband-to-be looked on in horror. Just as she saw her own reflection in the blade of the Moriyama Prince’s sword, another blade came hurtling down. Kayleigh was dropped to the floor: immediately she squirrelled into Tetsuji’s lap, curling as tight as she possibly could. 

“Kayleigh,” he whispered. “Kayleigh, I’m safe. You saved me: the Witcher save you.” 

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes: she was naked, covered by Tetsuji’s cloak, and curled into his lap in the middle of a blood-splattered dance floor. 

“Oh, Kayleigh,” her mother whispered. “I thought that perhaps you hadn’t received your grandmother’s gift, as I hadn’t.” She pressed her lips to Kayleigh’s temple, cheeks warm and wet with tears of shock. Kayleigh leant into her, pulling the cloak tight around her. 

Slowly, Tetsuji and her mother helped her to her feet. She turned to look at Andrew Minyard, of whomst was holding Kengo Moriyama’s right hand, looking on to the scene with mild intrigue. Kengo himself had vanished, his entourage in quick succession following him out the door as Foxhole knights chased after them for retribution. 

“You saved my life,” Kayleigh said. 

Andrew shrugged, chucking the hand to her feet. It still had a fox’s teeth marks in its wrist. “Such is my occupation.”

“How can I repay you?” She demanded, gratitude choking her up as she leant into Tetsuji. “Whatever you want. Surely there must be something, Witcher.” 

“I want nothing,” the man clarified. “I have no need for your debts and gratitude.” 

“I insist,” Kayleigh demanded.

“If you do not wish to haggle a woman of debts, then take it on my behalf,” Tetsuji insisted. 

“Fine,” Andrew muttered, waving his hand dismissively. “Whatever you said before. Law of Surprise. What is it? That of which you have but do no know of. A dog or a sword in the grass, a lame horse. I don’t care.” 

“It won’t be a child twice in a row, I am sure,” David said, arching an eyebrow at Andrew. 

Kayleigh decided at that moment to keel over and retch onto the floor in front of her, her sick splattering over Andrew’s leather boots. 

“Kayleigh,” Abby gasped. “Are you…?” 

Slowly, Kayleigh nodded. 

Andrew closed his eyes. “Fuck.” 

* * *

_The Warmonger - Years Later_

* * *

Riko looked out over the destitute city within the Foxhole Court’s walls as it burned. He had killed his traitorous uncle and his pathetic wife for his father, but it seemed that Queen Abigail, her husband Lord David Wymack, and Prince Kevin had escaped. 

No matter. He would find the foxling soon enough and bring the boy and his grandparent’s heads to his father. His honour would be restored, and Moriyama would rule the Continent. 

A smile curled on his lips, slow and victorious. Success was intoxicating and Riko was chasing it. He’d run it to the edge of the earth and each of its four corners, till he had savoured every last remnant of it. 

With a vicious _hiyah!_ he urged his raven-black horse into a canter, the Moriyama flag high and mighty.

**Author's Note:**

> okay, first off, this is a prologue because i dont know if i can commit to something so big right now, but i'd love to if that's something yall actually want. 
> 
> secondly, there's a lot of lore in this au that i do not and cannot know because it's an enormous universe and i dont play video games and the books haven't been read in a long while. it was actually very difficult to figure out a story and how it'd work, so here's a few key points: 
> 
> yes, wymack is kevin's grandpa. yes, i stared at my screen figuring out whether or not betsy should have been calanthe with queen kayleigh and wymack as his parents for about fifteen minutes before yelling "fuck it!!" and just going with what I have written now. 
> 
> yes, kevin is promised to andrew through the law of surprise. no, that does not mean that andrew is going to marry a child (or kevin, in general), because yuck. yuckyyyy. gross.
> 
> yes, neil is yennefer. no, he does not want a baby and will not be doing insane things to try and get one. 
> 
> and yes, nicholas is the bard. no, there are no underly sexual tensions between him and andrew like there is between jaskier and geralt (because, yeah, they're related *wow*). 
> 
> please ask for clarifications!!!!! i'm happy to give them, or to write more and shove it in that ^ if it makes no sense to the normal person who hasn't seen eight episodes of shirtless henry cavill (you are missing out, im gay asf but you are hella missing out). 
> 
> love, jem


End file.
